


Just for You, a Symphony from My Soul

by Caeseria



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caeseria/pseuds/Caeseria
Summary: Sometimes, it’s the smaller moments – those out of the public eye – that are the most important.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my favourite Katsudon's birthday on the 29th... Happy Birthday, Katsuki Yuuri! <3
> 
> (Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://caeseria.tumblr.com/) if you want!)

 

The sun is setting.  Through the tall windows of Ice Castle, Yuuri can make out the clouds, low on the horizon.  They’re touched pink on the underneath; tissue-thin layers that fade into grey-white, the last delicate blue of the sky just visible in the background.

Yuuri is exhausted; he can feel the muscles in his legs tremble and start to burn.  He’s got impressive stamina but it’s close to the end of the day and he’s beginning to fade, to make little mistakes that normally wouldn’t fluster him.  Now that Victor has decided to stay in Hasetsu, Yuuri’s been practicing five hours a day, every day, on ice; then running, ballet lessons with Minako-sensei in between skating.  Over the last couple of weeks, he’s gotten more confident under Victor’s stern but careful tutelage and, sometimes, Yuuri thinks he might actually redeem himself in competition if he works hard enough.  He has much to make up for; he finished an abysmal eleventh in the Nationals last year, the final humiliation to cap an awful year. 

“Yuuri, concentrate.”

Victor’s voice carries across the ice and, even though Yuuri’s tired, it still never fails to thrill him. Victor’s tone is smooth; it has a strange lilt to his words as his accent inflects the way he pronounces his English, stretching out that first character in his name. Yuuri can’t think too hard about that, because it’s a turn on, sex made vocal, and he’ll lose his focus once and for all.

He moves on auto pilot, completes the step sequence, then an inside spread eagle, transitioning into a triple axel.  He’s done this countless times, but he realizes as soon as he leaves the ice that he’s already failed the jump; he’s taken off on the wrong edge, flubbed it.  He feels a flash of disappointment aimed at himself and then he’s down, landing hard, rolling across the ice.  The sound echoes through the rink, another loud staccato reminder of failure as his body slides to a halt.  Yuuri shakes his head to clear it, can already feel the sting on the bare skin of his hands and forearms where his body instinctively attempted to protect itself.  He pushes up onto his hands and knees, head down, panting for breath.  He doesn’t think he can look at Victor right now, to see the disappointment on his face.  Yuuri knows enough about technique already to know what went wrong.

As he stares at the ice, he blinks; he can see each individual line carved into it from his skates, over and over, a testament to his determination.  The lines blur, blending in and out of focus.

_I will succeed,_ he thinks.  _I will do this; for myself, for Victor_.

Yuuri knows he can’t fail; for some unfathomable reason, Victor dropped everything and flew to Japan, just to train Yuuri.  He can’t understand why, can’t get to grips with what would make Victor _want_ to do this.  It confuses him, and yet, for some reason, he can’t find a way to bring the subject up, to ask, because it may not be the answer he hopes for.  The man is an enigma to him, still an unknown, which, when Yuuri really thinks about it, is a hysterical concept considering he’s been staring at Victor for years, both at the posters in his room, and on television.  To know someone so well – to know their movements, to understand their grace – and yet to still have that person be a stranger; this is Yuuri’s dilemma, his own personal heartbreak.

He hears Victor approaching and sits back on his heels, hands fisted on his knees.  Only then does he look up and turn his head, watching as Victor approaches, skating a direct line toward him.  Victor looks like he was born on the ice, grace inherent in every movement, even when he’s not playing to the crowd.  He’s frowning at Yuuri, apparently concerned.

“Yuuri?”  Victor glides to a halt, turning on his blades.  The ice makes a familiar crunching noise under his skates.  He crouches down on one knee next to Yuuri.  “What happened?” Victor’s coaching style is forgiving, encouraging, yet at the same time, he is determined to see Yuuri win.  Yuuri’s not sure if he’s quizzing him on technique or not.

“I messed up,” Yuuri says, taking a deep breath.  Suddenly he’s not sure he can do this; maybe Victor’s wasting his time.  He feels cool fingers on his chin; he doesn’t realize he’s dropped his head down again until Victor is touching him, forcing him to look upward.  He looks into the startling blue of Victor’s eyes, lets his gaze wash over his fine cheekbones, down to those sensual lips. He forces himself to meet Victor’s eyes again and, this time, Victor is smirking as if he knows exactly what Yuuri is thinking.  Yuuri’s face heats with embarrassment and he can feel the flush of shame through his body, warming him.

“I know you can do this, Yuuri; I’ve seen you do this – flawlessly – over and over. You need to stop overthinking things. A person’s mind can be their own worst enemy.”  Victor pauses, considering, fingers tightening on Yuuri’s chin.  “Maybe we should stop, yes, and begin again tomorrow?”

It hasn’t taken long for Yuuri to figure out that Victor likes to touch him.  It’s how he gets Yuuri’s attention; a touch to his arm or his wrist.  It’s how he directs Yuuri; elegant fingers on his waist to change his posture, a hand resting lightly against his hip to correct his stance.  It’s how he shows affection, although Yuuri hasn’t noticed Victor doing it with anyone else.  And, it’s also how Victor flirts; with not just his words, or the look in his eyes, but with his hands, his body, his humor, and Yuuri has no idea how to deal with it.

The truth is, Victor Nikiforov makes him flustered.  Yuuri loses what little cool he has, and he is beginning to suspect that that is what’s making him screw up these days, rather than the lack of confidence from before. But it’s not like he can tell _Victor_ that.  When Yurio was around, Victor’s attention was split evenly between them during training but, now, Victor’s attention is his alone, all day, every day.  It’s a mixed blessing of sorts; Yuuri’s nerves are stretched to breaking point, his mind trying to focus on the technicalities of the program, learning to land his quads correctly, while his body is constantly focused on Victor and the way he moves, how close he is, how his hair falls into his eyes, his scent.  It’s like looking in two directions at the same time; both left and right, and it’s inevitable that, if he keeps doing this, he won’t see what’s metaphorically right in front of him, and he’ll crash and burn.

“Yuuri?”

“Ah, sorry.” 

Victor releases Yuuri’s chin, hand falling back to his side.  He smiles and stands up, holding out a hand, pulling Yuuri to his feet.  “Let’s go soak in the onsen,” he says.  “Hiroko-san said she had some new sake as well; maybe it’ll help you relax?”

The last thing Yuuri needs right now is to relax; he’s not sure what alcohol might do to his inhibitions at this point.  The need to reach out and touch Victor is becoming an all-encompassing obsession, and he often finds that he’s having to stop himself from doing so. 

No, as much as Yuuri wants to soak in the onsen with Victor, it will only make his yearning ten times worse.  It takes a lot of courage and determination for him to say, “Maybe later.  I should get an early night.”

Victor shrugs and tries not to look disappointed, and then pastes one of his blinding smiles back on his face.  Yuuri finds it heartbreaking; he wants nothing more than to say yes with his whole being, his soul.  He wants to say yes when Victor asks to sleep together.  He wants to say yes to drinking sake with his idol. He wants every word out of his mouth to be yes, yes, yes.

And somehow, even though he’s not spoken a single word, Victor seems to understand. 

Yuuri offers an apologetic smile and pushes off, skating to the boards.  He turns back, waiting for Victor to follow, watching, memorizing every move he makes, hoarding the memories for later, for the darkness when he’s able to allow himself the small liberty of replaying them one by one. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘ _Free program, free program_ ,’ Yuuri mutters to himself.  He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to put components together, to string them into something graceful, something that will tell his story.  He has an idea for his theme; it’s still unformed, still vague, but it won’t leave him alone, niggling at him.  If he decides to go with _Love_ as his theme, he’s not looking forward to trying to explain it to Victor; there’s a good possibility he might self-combust before he gets the words out.

He rolls to the side, tucks his knees up, curling into a ball.  Whenever he’d get tense before, he’d stare at one of his posters of Victor, examining it in detail; not just Victor himself, although sometimes that had been enough.  Sometimes he’d pick something in the background, or the detail of his costume, the way one particular sequin or feather would catch the light, trying to figure out why it did so, where the light source was coming from.  He can’t do that anymore, not after Victor had asked him to sleep together the night he’d showed up. That had been a mortifying moment; the very real possibility that Victor would burst in and see Yuuri’s own personal shrine dedicated to him.  But Victor had respected his boundaries, hadn’t pressed the matter. Maybe he could hear the panic in Yuuri’s voice, he doesn’t know, but he’ll be forever grateful to Victor for _not_ pushing. 

He still has the posters, removed from his walls in haste, but now they’re carefully rolled and put in the closet for safe keeping.  He figures that, once Victor’s gone, he maybe can put them back up.  Part of him knows that won’t happen though; he’s been living and skating with the real thing for a couple of months now, and a simple poster can’t hold a candle to the complexity of the real Victor Nikiforov.  Yuuri’s ruined for life, and half of him is ecstatic that he’s been handed this opportunity that most people would kill for. The other part of him still mourns the innocence of childhood, when Victor had simply been a two-dimensional crush, his unreachable idol, safe at a distance.  Now Victor is here, he’s shattered Yuuri’s life into little pieces. But Yuuri can’t feel sorry for it.  He’s been complacent for too long, skating, living life without a true sense of purpose.  Victor promises to destroy all that, to put him back together and form him into something new.  It makes Yuuri’s heart swell, his chest tighten.  He’s happy, he realizes.  Just like the first night Victor showed up, that happiness has not gone away.  It’s morphing, changing, but it’s still there. 

His phone rings at the same time an email comes in.  Yuuri fumbles for the phone under the pillow, holding up it.  He grins when he sees who it is and answers the call.  “Phichit-kun!”

“Yuuri!”  Phichit waves; he must be in his room, Yuuri thinks, because he can see a window behind him, the Bangkok skyline in the background.  “I just sent you an email.  I tracked down the conservatory student for you in Detroit.  I sent you her email if you want to contact her.”

“Thank you!”  Yuuri sits up and crosses his legs, getting comfortable.  “How’s the training going?”

“Ciao Ciao has me working night and day.” Phichit rolls his eyes; he has a very expressive face.  It reminds Yuuri of when they were rink mates, so comfortable with each other that they didn’t need to actually speak, sometimes a look was enough.  It’s clear Celestino is working Phichit to the bone; he’s thirsty for a win, especially after Yuuri’s disastrous GPF last December. 

“Did you see the jump I posted online?”

“Ah, no. I’ve been busy.”  Yuuri frowns and adds, “Sorry.”

Phichit’s expression changes from one of dismay; he suddenly looks like a hungry piranha that’s been tossed in a tank with some unsuspecting fish.  It’s _almost_ a leer. “How’s things with Victor?” he asks, and that’s enough to set warning bells off in Yuuri’s head.  Phichit has been his confidant for years and he can tell where this is leading.

“Victor’s fine,” Yuuri mumbles.  “We’re trying to work out the details of the free program.”

“Oh?” Phichit leans forward, toward the phone.  “What’s he like as a coach? Does he know you had a crush on him?’

Yuuri sits there, open mouthed, and tries to think of a sensible answer.  “He’s fair,” Yuuri says eventually, figuring that’s safe enough. He’s not sure he’s ready to discuss anything further yet, not even with Phichit, not at this point.  “He knows - ”

There’s a scratching at the door, and a whine. “Hold on a second,” he says, and stands up to open the door.  As soon as he slides the door open, Maccachin bounces in, barks, and jumps on the bed, settling himself on Yuuri’s pillow.  The dog has no boundaries – rather like Victor – Yuuri thinks. 

“Is that Victor’s _dog_?” Phichit says.  He raises one eyebrow.  “He brought his dog with him? I guess he expected to stay a while.”  Yuuri hasn’t thought of that; it never crossed his mind.  It makes his heart warm and he smiles.

“Yes, this is Maccachin.  Maccachin, say hi to Phichit.”  Maccachin raises his head, huffing slightly at the phone when Yuuri holds it close.  Maccachin loses interest fast, dropping his head on Yuuri’s leg and closing his eyes.

Phichit eyes Yuuri up again.  “So, back to Victor. Tell me the rest.”

“Yuuri? Maccachin, where are you?” Victor’s voice carries the distance from the end of the hallway.

_Oh shit,_ Yuuri thinks.  He stares, wide-eyed, at Phichit for a moment.  He can see himself in the little preview box on the top left of the phone screen, can see the panic flash in his eyes, how they widen beneath his glasses.  Despite a couple of tries, Victor’s never been in his room; so far, Yuuri’s managed to keep him firmly on the other side of the door.  He can’t be rude and hang up, although he can tell by Phichit’s face that he realizes Yuuri is having one of his panics and would probably forgive him. 

“Yuuri?” Victor slides the door open a crack and sticks his head inside.  He makes a point of not looking around the room; but, once he locates Yuuri, he smiles.  “There’s Maccachin.  The traitor.”

Victor fake-frowns, but Maccachin is pretending to sleep and simply ignores him. Phichit laughs, snapping Yuuri back to the present and the fact that he’s supposed to be having a conversation with his friend and not staring at his coach.

“Who’s that?” Victor asks, and he slips through the half-open door, coming to sit on Yuuri’s other side.  He leans into Yuuri’s space, one hand on the bed behind Yuuri, until he’s able to look over Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Ah, this is Phichit-kun,” Yuuri explains. He tries to ignore the way Victor’s proximity sends a thrill down his spine, fights for his body not to react and show that shiver.  Phichit would eat him alive if he saw that and never, ever, let him forget it.  “He was my rink mate in Detroit.  Phichit, this is Victor Nikiforov.”

“Hi!” Victor waves.  He sounds almost unconcerned, as if he’s completely unaware of the effect he’s having on Yuuri, as if he doesn’t notice he’s pulling Yuuri to pieces just by being close to him.

Phichit waves back.  His expression is one of cheerful glee, one that says that they are totally going to revisit this conversation in the near future, and that Yuuri is not getting off with superficial comments and vague denials.  “I should let you both go,” Phichit announces, like he and Victor are a couple and clearly have couply things to do.  “Yuuri, call me soon.  We need to catch up before the Grand Prix assignments go out.”

“Yes! Let’s hope we get to skate together. Thanks again for the email.”

Phichit gives a final wave and disconnects, and Yuuri drops the phone onto the bed.  He shifts, turns towards Victor, forgetting how close Victor is.  He stops at the last second, mere inches from Victor’s face.

“Email?” Victor says in his ‘ _slightly disapproving’_ voice, the one that makes Yuuri want to hide.

As it is, he blushes.  “Phichit tracked down the student who made the original demo for my free program,” he explains.  “He sent me her address so I can contact her.”

“Ah. Have you decided on the theme yet, then?” Victor leans in, close enough that Yuuri can feel a line of heat down his back, under his t-shirt, where Victor’s arm is pressed against him.  Victor’s face is almost blurry this close, even with his glasses on, and Yuuri ruthlessly tries to shut down the blush that’s threatening to take over his face. 

“Not yet,” he mumbles.  “I’m still working on it.”

Victor sighs.  “We need to nail down the details soon.  It’s fine having an idea of the actual components of the program, but we need the music and the overall theme to really make it come together.”

Yuuri thinks that Victor should be banned from using the words _nail down_ in future; he suddenly has visions of Victor leaning over him, pushing him back on the bed, kissing a line down his throat.  Victor’s in his space, in his room, something that Yuuri’s been actively avoiding for weeks, and he’s not sure he’d resist, even now, if Victor wanted something more from him than what they have.  It’s dangerous, he realizes.  He wants Victor, but he also wants to _win_.  He’s wanted Victor for years; a few more months isn’t going to make a difference in that unreachable goal, but he can use the time he has with Victor to grow stronger, to build his stamina, to practice until his execution is flawless, his timing perfect.  He knows Victor is with him; he’s promised Yuuri his time, his commitment.  When they’d talked on the beach he’d said, _I won’t let you off easy, then.  This is my way of showing my love_.

Yuuri has filed that particular comment away for later examination, but Victor has kept his promise. He has pushed him past his boundaries, comfortable and not, but he’s done it with care, giving small pieces of himself back to Yuuri in trade.  Yuuri’s already stronger, but they still have work to do. 

Victor pulls back slowly, almost as if he’s lingering in the hope of something that Yuuri can’t name.  He reaches around Yuuri and ruffles Maccachin’s fur.  The dog’s tail starts to wag, even if he won’t open his eyes.  “Maccachin’s comfy,” Victor says with a laugh, breaking the tension expertly with grace and a certain amount of diplomacy.  “I should leave him to sleep, if you don’t mind?”

“No, that’s fine.”  Yuuri smiles and reaches out to ruffle Maccachin’s fur too.  “I hope he doesn’t take up the entire bed.”

“He’s a cuddler, like his owner,” Victor says with a grin.  He winks at Yuuri, clearly knowing full well how that’s going to get interpreted.  He stands up and walks to the door, turning back at the last moment.  “Good night, Yuuri.  Sleep well.”

Yuuri watches as Victor closes the door behind himself.  Yuuri sighs, flops back on the bed next to the dog.  He stares at Maccachin, who’s still pretending to sleep, and wonders for the millionth time what it would be like to have Victor here, beside him in the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuri’s got the music back from the conservatory student, and Victor’s given him his approval to use it.  Now Yuuri can begin to craft the free program components in earnest with Victor.  Victor’s already laid out most of the choreography, but Yuuri wants to personalize it a little, to truly make it his own. 

He’s just finished his warm up, stepped onto the fresh ice, when Victor arrives.  The early morning sun streams through the tall windows of the rink, bathing the ice in a pale golden glow that makes everything seem softer, ethereal. Outside it promises to be a hot day, one of the first of summer, but inside, Yuuri is cocooned in the sharp bite of cold from the rink.

He moves across the ice, doing figures.  It’s almost like meditation; a way to ground himself before Victor takes him apart in earnest, little by little.  Not just with his instruction, his advice, his knowledge, but with the way he looks at Yuuri.  Yuuri’s beginning to suspect that Victor’s interest is more than just platonic, but he won’t get his hopes up, not yet.  He knows himself, acknowledges the fact that, if he’s wrong and he misinterprets things, it will end horribly.  The utter humiliation of Sochi would have nothing on this; it’s likely to render his soul in pieces if he gets this wrong.  Still, he’s always been determined in the right environment, with the right reasons.  It won’t hurt to lay the groundwork, to see where things lead.  Some new part of him has awoken this morning with the first rays of sunlight, a playful part of him that wants to test his boundaries, Victor’s boundaries, and see what happens.

He continues to do figures until Victor steps on the ice, skates over to him.  Yuuri turns to watch him move, all grace, poetry in motion.  He’s wearing a t-shirt and those black pants again, the ones with the drawstring, and Yuuri’s attention is always drawn to the prize because the drawstring seem to focus attention on that singular spot.  It’s maddeningly erotic, a blatant tease and, today, Yuuri can’t help but respond to it like it’s a challenge.

“You’re up early,” Victor comments with a smile.  He looks pleasantly surprised.

Yuuri refocuses; smiles back.  “It was too nice a morning to lay in bed.”  He pushes off, skates catching the ice, and then turns to look back over his shoulder at Victor.  “I thought of something new for the program.  Will you watch me?”

Victor nods, simply watches as Yuuri moves through the steps.  After a few moments, Yuuri forgets that Victor is watching; he simply enjoys the skate.  He’s in a lighthearted mood and he knows it shows.  This is something he’d forgotten; the sheer joy of skating, the fact that it doesn’t have to be a chore, a job.  He became a figure skater because he enjoyed the dance, the rhythm, the way his body moves on the ice.  He’s relaxed after the warm up, fresh, and his body flows.  As he passes Victor, he can see that Victor looks surprised, a little amazed, and something in Yuuri breaks free.  Suddenly, he’s not dancing for the program, he’s dancing for Victor, and he lets his body show that, his movements becoming almost languid and sensual.  He ignores the program, simply skates, drops into an double toe loop, feels the ice kick beneath his skates, the cold air across his skin.  He comes out of the jump flawlessly, arms out gracefully, and catches sight of Victor’s expression.  His eyes are wide, a flush of color across his cheekbones.  He wets his lips and Yuuri feels the warmth of desire heat his own body at the thought that he can affect Victor enough for it to show.  Victor’s dropped his guard and doesn’t realize it, which is in itself something incredible, and Yuuri is made bold with the knowledge.

He continues to move, skating close to Victor, almost close enough to brush past him, around him. Victor has to turn to follow his movements, and then Yuuri moves away, teasing with his body, his steps.  This is not the complicated step sequence and frenetic pace of the Eros short program. This is Yuuri’s way of showing his love, the love that he can’t share yet with Victor.  Something’s changed inside of him today though, and he’s willing to tell Victor of his desire, his longing, to show that in his skating.  He slows eventually, slipping into the last move flawlessly, gliding across the ice. When he stops, he’s breathing hard, but he can still spare a knowing smile for Victor.

“Wow.” 

Victor’s grinning; his smile mirrors Yuuri’s, and Yuuri doesn’t need to be told that Victor understood his message, that he read it loud and clear.  Yesterday, that might have mortified Yuuri but, yesterday, he wouldn’t have skated like _this_.

Victor pushes off his skate, moving toward Yuuri with purpose, circling him just like Yuuri had minutes before.  He comes up behind Yuuri, leans in, the softest of touches to Yuuri’s hips, featherlight.  Yuuri lets his eyes flutter closed momentarily, trying to ignore the pure _want_ that flows though his body when Victor touches him.

Yuuri supposes it’s fair turnaround; he’s just spent three or more minutes on the ice _flirting at Victor_ , so it should come as no surprise that Victor is going to return the favour.  That’s the problem with Victor and the reason why Yuuri has been purposefully distant in the past; you show Victor an inch and he’ll take a proverbial mile and then some.

“The last time I saw you skate like that was when you copied my free program,” Victor says.  His voice is low, husky, and his breath washes across the sensitive skin on Yuuri’s neck.  “Who do you dance for, Yuuri? Who do you live for, love for?”

Despite the fact that Victor is simply resting his hands on Yuuri’s hips, Yuuri can’t pull away, can’t put a safe distance between them.  It’s as if he’s bound to the spot, a prisoner to the moment.  He simply _cannot_ answer that question, not yet. 

“If you dance like that in the Grand Prix, nobody will be able to beat you.” Fortunately, Victor doesn’t appear to be looking for an answer, and Yuuri wonders if it was supposed to be rhetorical, or if Victor is giving him an easy out. Probably the latter.

Victor’s hands shift on Yuuri’s hips, tightening slightly, and Yuuri feels a warm, delicate touch on his neck, close to the collar of his shirt.  Yuuri’s distracted by Victor’s hands, doesn’t have time to take in the fact that Victor _may_ have just placed a kiss on his neck.  He feels his face warm, desire pound through his body at the thought, but the touch was so subtle he can’t be sure it even happened.  He’s completely unprepared for it, beginning to panic inside, stupid thoughts rushing through his brain; _how do I cope with this, do I say something or pretend it never happened? Did it happen, what should I –_

Victor pushes backward with his toe pick, hands leaving Yuuri’s hips, taking his body heat with him, exposing Yuuri’s back to the cold again. “Are you going to use the Ina Bauer?” Victor’s voice carries across the ice.

“Huh?” Yuuri’s still flustered, his brain trying to catch up with the question.  He turns to locate Victor.

“The Ina Bauer.  You used it at the end of your skate.”  Victor turns gracefully and the blades of his skate catch the light, flashing golden for a split second.  “I liked it,” he continues, like they hadn’t just been flirting dangerously close to the point of no-return.  “Even though it’s usually a move that female skaters use, somehow it suits you, and the program.  I think you should put it in.”

“All right.”  Yuuri blinks.  He’d only been messing around, using the way the move gave his body a graceful silhouette to tease Victor. 

“Okay! Shall we run through the program so far?” Victor claps his hands, and suddenly he’s in coach mode again. 

Yuuri nods, settles into the starting position, hands up as if pleading.  He stares towards the ceiling, starting to turn.  The sound of his skates echo around the rink, and he moves through the sunbeams, counting out the beats of the program in his head.  He still feels light, almost buoyant, he hasn’t lost that playful edge he woke up with; he hasn’t lost Victor.

He's reminded of the day on the beach when they’d had their heart to heart talk. He realizes that the same things still apply, and he smiles.

_When I open up, he meets me where I am._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Regional Championships go off without a hitch.  _Well_ , Yuuri thinks, _if you can call changing program elements on the fly just to mess with your coach and then slamming your face into the boards like a hockey player ‘going off without a hitch’._

What really matters is that he’s won, and that Victor’s forgiven him for his momentary insanity.  Yuuri’s come away from the experience with a new-found sense of determination, which he desperately needs, along with a better understanding of what it’s like to be someone’s idol.  The way he’d handled Minami-kun was, at first, not his proudest moment, but Yuuri’s never really given serious consideration to what it’s like to be someone’s idol, not until Victor smartly put him in his place before the free skate.  Now he can add humility to his list of new character traits.  Still, it puts Victor in a new light; the man has always been gracious to his fans, accommodating to his peers.  Yuuri had never really thought about it before, had just assumed it was part and parcel of Victor’s personality to play to the crowd.  But the more he gets to know Victor, the more he can see that Victor is actually a quiet person.  He’s not reserved, he’s simply… _Victor_.  It’s endearing, another thing that ties Yuuri to him, one amongst many.

The Regional Championships is followed by his official announcement on live television of the theme for his Grand Prix program. It was one of those moments that Yuuri was glad Victor can’t speak much Japanese because, if he’d thought for a moment that Victor would be able to parse at least a third of what he’d said, he might have burst into embarrassed flames.  As it is, Victor appears to be only aware that the theme is _Love_ , and Yuuri hopes, for the moment, to leave it at that. 

Yuuri makes his way through the inn to Victor’s room.  It’s early on Sunday morning, and his parents are serving breakfast for the guests in the main room, so he can’t use the television to watch the men’s free program at Skate Canada.  He wants to watch Yurio, because it never hurts to do your homework on the competition, especially since he’ll be facing him in the Rostelecom Cup in Russia at the end of November. 

“Victor?” Yuuri knocks on the door, pushes it aside enough to peek through.  Victor’s lying there, asleep, butt naked like usual by the looks of it, comforter pushed dangerously low on his hip bones.  He has an arm over Maccachin, who wags his tail at Yuuri in greeting.  “Victor?” Yuuri says a little louder.

Victor grunts, opens sleepy eyes through hair tussled and messy.  Yuuri’s mouth goes dry at the sight and he prepares to flee because, despite how things have progressed between them, he’s not sure he’s ready to deal with a mostly naked, half-awake Victor _in bed_.

“Yuuri,” Victor grumbles and pushes himself up until he’s resting on one elbow.  That’s almost worse; now Yuuri can clearly see the cut of his very defined stomach muscles.  He can cope with naked Victor in the onsen but, somehow, it’s almost more obscene when he’s partly clothed; Yuuri’s brain seems to take special care in deconstructing every little movement that Victor makes, every sliver of skin that peeks out by accident.

“Ah,” Yuuri says, holding up his hands.  “I was going to watch Skate Canada with you, remember?  I’ll watch it in my room instead.”

Victor pushes his hair out of his eyes and focuses on Yuuri properly.  He’s clearly been out on one of his late-night drinking forays, hence the fact that he’s still in bed and somewhat grumpy.  Yuuri wonders briefly if he’s always this way when he wakes up, and finds it somewhat endearing.  “Stay,” he says simply.  “I’ll put on some pants.”

Yuuri can’t flee now, he thinks.  He takes a hesitant step into the room.  Now he’s committed; he’s in Victor’s personal space.  Victor slides from the bed and Yuuri snaps his eyes toward the ceiling.  He hears Victor laugh softly, then the rustle of clothing.  When he dares to look, Victor’s in a pair of old track pants that sit low on his hips, feet and chest bare.  He’s got his toothbrush in hand, and his wash bag.  “I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears down the hallway. 

Yuuri’s never been left alone in Victor’s room before.  He’s been here with Victor on the odd occasion, but the space feels different now.  It feels lived in, occupied, not just the spare banquet room anymore.  There’s one of Victor’s t-shirts flung across the arm of the couch, a book left open on the table.  It’s in Russian, which Yuuri doesn’t understand, so he’s not sure what it’s about, although it appears to be well-read.  He recognizes the marble bust, but Victor’s moved it to the shelf since he was last here.  Yuuri can’t fathom for the life of him why Victor would want to drag it all the way from Russia like it was something he can’t live without, but then Victor’s always going to be something of an enigma to him.

“Are you still standing in the middle of the room?” Victor’s voice is soft, although he sounds more awake now.  He moves around Yuuri, pats the bed and smiles, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Hop up.” 

Yuuri’s brain short circuits at the thought of spending the next two hours sitting on Victor’s bed with him.  Clearly, he hasn’t thought this through.  Sure, there was the one time when he’d wanted Victor to listen to his music, had leapt without thought onto the bed and had straddled Victor, but Victor had been half awake and he’d left shortly afterward.  This is different.

Victor reaches for his computer, opens it, and climbs onto the bed.  He rearranges the pillows, leans back, and pushes his feet under the comforter, enough to keep them warm.  He leaves Yuuri to his own devices, standing there, allowing him to approach at his own pace.  He doesn’t draw attention to the situation, merely accepts it, for which Yuuri is thankful.

He takes a deep breath, lets the tension uncoil from his stomach, and climbs up next to Victor.  Victor glances at him, smiles that devastating smile of approval, and goes back to the website.  “What time is it in Canada?” he asks.

“Um, seven-thirty I think,” Yuuri replies.  “We’re a little late, it’s probably started.”

Victor nods and, satisfied, settles back.  The commentary has started; it’s in Japanese.  “Do you want me to translate?” Yuuri asks.

Victor shakes his head.  “Only if you think it’s important.”  He shifts, moving closer to Yuuri, close enough that Yuuri can almost feel the heat from his sleep-warm skin.  The tension from earlier returns, and Yuuri frowns, wishes it would go away. 

“Yuuri?”  At the sound of Victor’s voice, Yuuri turns his head.  Victor’s right there, merely inches away.  “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Ah, yes. No, I mean no.” 

Victor laughs softly, a private sound, intimate.  “Yes or no?”

“Both.”  Yuuri wants to bite his tongue off, hadn’t expected the word to slip out.  He looks down, stares at his hands in his lap, forces them to remain lax and not to form into fists.  He hears Victor sigh; it’s almost sad.

“Yuuri, look at me.” 

Yuuri looks up, meets Victor’s eyes.  He sees something fierce in Victor’s eyes; it’s almost protective.  Then they soften; the blue changes from the color of the first hard frost to something warmer. He reaches out, cards his fingers through Yuuri’s fringe, pushing it back off of his face.  “You know I’ll never push, right? Unless we’re on the ice, of course. There, I’m your coach.”

Yuuri blinks; there’s a whole lot Victor’s _not_ saying, and a lot more he is that hasn’t been put into words. They may not be spoken, but they’re there, nonetheless, hovering in the air between them.  Yuuri can’t think clearly; when he’s with Victor in an intimate setting he rarely has the brainpower to function.  Sometimes he thinks Victor flirts on purpose; maybe he’s trying to initiate something, or maybe he’s simply trying to see what might happen when Yuuri stops thinking and starts acting on instinct alone.  Yuuri desperately wants to stop thinking; he wants to let go, to see where it takes them, but logic always steps in.  Logic tells him he needs to focus on the skating, on winning, on making Victor proud.  He won’t be able to rest until he’s accomplished that much, even if, like now, he simply wants to melt into Victor, to feel his skin against his own, his touch.

“We missed the first couple of skates.”  Yuuri snaps his head around to stare at the screen.  Victor’s right; they’ve completely missed most of the first group, what with getting set up and talking.  The second group takes to the ice to warm up, and Yuuri focuses intently on Yurio, trying to detect any changes in his skating.  It’s not nearly long enough however, what with the camera moving around and focusing on the other skaters, and Yuuri’s going to have to content himself with watching Yurio properly during his program.  Yurio’s in second place after yesterday’s short program, so he’ll be skating second to last.

“Have you ever tried poutine?” Victor asks.

It takes Yuuri by surprise.  It’s such an odd, random question.  “Poutine? No,” he replies slowly.  “Isn’t that like fries with gravy? Why?”

Victor shrugs.  “You’ve been to Canada, though.”

“Yes, last year for the Grand Prix.  Ah, can we not talk about that?”

Victor smiles.  “Bad memories?”

Yuuri nods.  “A bad year, as you know.”  He turns back to the computer, watching the next skater take the ice. In the background, beneath the Japanese commentator, he can hear the announcer at the Hershey Centre speaking in English, repeating the same in French. 

“Victor?”

“Hmm.” 

“What’s your favourite food?”  This has never occurred to Yuuri before, but Victor must have something he likes to eat on a regular basis.  Maybe he can make it for him, provided it’s not too complicated.

“Katsudon,” Victor intones seriously, and gazes at Yuuri through his fringe.  Yuuri feels his face heat, and Victor keeps staring at him, his eyes dropping down to Yuuri’s lips and then back up again.  Yuuri finds he’s suddenly mesmerized by the look Victor is giving him.  Victor looks half asleep, eyes heavy lidded, and he looks like he’s almost pouting.  Yuuri feels that familiar rush of heat again, starts to lean forward…

The crowd goes wild and Yuuri snaps out of it, suddenly.  _Shit_ , he thinks to himself.  _I was going to… was going to… was I going to kiss Victor?_

Victor, for his part, looks a little stunned, but then he gets a wholly devious look on his face.  He leans in closer, slipping an arm behind Yuuri, placing one hand on his hip and pulling him a fraction closer.  He doesn’t remove his hand, simply leaves it there.  After a few moments, when it appears that’s all that Victor is going to do, Yuuri relaxes, allows himself to focus on the live feed on the computer.  Now, however, at least half of his attention is on Victor’s fingertips, drawing soft, maddening circles lazily over his skin, extremely close to a particularly ticklish spot he has.

Next to skate is Jean-Jacques Leroy, and he’s on home turf.  The crowd goes nuts, most of them are on their feet, and he hasn’t even started his program yet.  Yuuri knows how that is probably going to affect the other skaters; until you’re in that situation, you don’t realize how much the audience has a hold over you, how much it affects your performance.

Victor’s fingers slide over Yuuri’s hip, and he catches Yuuri’s ticklish spot.  Yuuri makes a noise that’s almost a squeak, stomach muscles flipping pleasantly as he gasps in surprise.  “Oh, ticklish?” Victor asks, and then he leans right into Yuuri’s space, brushing over the same spot again, this time with intent. 

“Victor, no,” Yuuri gasps out, reaching for his wrist to pull him away.  Victor’s faster, however; his face is alight with mischief, eyes sparkling, and Yuuri simply folds beneath his calculated attack, gasping for air, laughing hysterically.  He rolls to the side, flipping onto his stomach to protect his hip bones, still with one hand around Victor’s wrist.  It takes him a moment to stop laughing, to realize that he has Victor’s hand trapped beneath him, fingers splayed across the hard lines of his belly, dangerously close to the waistband of his pants.  He sucks in a surprised and mortified breath, releases Victor’s wrist.  Victor’s leaning over him, he catches the shadow of movement, turns his head to look up at Victor.  Victor’s still laughing, but his expression is soft, intimate.  Yuuri’s stomach flips at that look, fluttering heat settling in his belly with the first stirrings of arousal. 

_This is bad,_ he thinks.  _If Victor sees me like this –_

“Yuuri,” Victor says, leaning closer.  “You didn’t tell me you had bruises on your hips.”

“Huh?” Yuuri shifts, arousal forgotten for the moment, turning slightly to the side.  He looks down at where his track pants have exposed a few inches of his skin.  He can see the mottled bruising from one too many failed practice jumps, part and parcel of hard, relentless training.  A few bruises aren’t going to stop him from making a bid for the GPF, however.  “Oh,” he says, “It’s nothing unusual.  I have them on my knees too.”

The words are out before he can stop himself.  Victor’s face is surprised; completely priceless, eyes wide as he processes that statement.  No matter how Yuuri intended it, Victor is, of course, going to twist that in his head.  Suddenly, Yuuri starts laughing.  “Your face!” he says, and then he can’t stop laughing because this situation is so ridiculous, so _them_ , so push and pull and dance and flirt, parry, and retreat, that Yuuri can’t help but laugh.

It takes Victor a few seconds to catch up, and then he’s laughing too, flinging himself backward against the pillows, holding his stomach.  Yuuri eventually stops laughing, lifting his glasses to wipe away the tears, sighing.  He feels wrung out, and it’s only eleven in the morning.  It’s a good wrung out, though, cathartic, much needed after the intensity of training and the Regionals.  He realizes he needed this, and that, if he lets himself relax, it’s possible he can actually enjoy the time he spends with Victor when they are not training.  It’s a novel idea.

“Hmm, we missed Yurio’s skate,” Victor says after a moment, still laughing.

“What? Dammit, we’ll have to watch it on playback.”  They’re posting the results now and, apparently, Yurio’s won silver, which Yuuri’s sure he won’t be happy with. 

Yuuri turns to look at Victor, laying back against the mound of pillows he’d built, one hand resting on his bare stomach.  He raises a questioning eyebrow at Yuuri, but doesn’t say anything, only smiles.  Victor’s words from earlier float into Yuuri’s head: _I’ll never push you_.  It takes Yuuri a moment to realize that, despite the tension between them, which is part and parcel of being around Victor, Yuuri feels safe.  He lets his gaze wash over Victor’s form, emboldened when Victor doesn’t react, simply lets him look, take his fill as he chooses.

“I should go.” Yuuri almost has to force the words out, knows that, now the show has ended, he doesn’t have a reason to remain here any longer.  He _wants_ to stay though, just to be near to Victor.

Victor pats the space next to him.  “Stay if you want,” he says with a smile.  “We can nap.”

And there’s Victor, once again surprising him by meeting him exactly where he is.  With one comment, he’s allayed Yuuri’s fears, not pushing, simply being there as he’s needed with no expectations.  Yuuri’s heart melts a little more, and he knows he’s getting in way to deep, that he’s pretty much surrendered body and soul to an ideal, to a single person.  It’s too late now to back out; whatever the consequences, he’s going to have to deal with the fallout later.  Part of him is prepared for the worst, but he hopes for the better.  He has to.

“Okay,” he mumbles.  “Maybe ten minutes.”

Victor laughs softly.  “Ten minutes it is,” he replies.  He leaves his arm out to the side, and Yuuri hesitates, then moves, sliding up the bed, slotting himself alongside Victor, not quite touching his side, but close enough to feel his body heat.  He rests his head on Victor’s pillow and, for a moment, doesn’t dare to breathe, not until he feels Victor shift, and then fingers carding through his hair softly, soothing.  Yuuri glances up; Victor’s still smiling, but his eyes are closed, feigning sleep.  Yuuri lets out a final, deep breath and relaxes.

_Ten more minutes,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuri’s on autopilot by the time they get back from Beijing.  The Cup of China is not an event he’s ever going to forget, and not because of his free skate.  He remembers losing it before the skate, arguing with Victor, but more than that, he remembers Victor pushing, maybe for the first time, and when Yuuri pushed back, told him what he wanted from Victor, Victor _listened_.  It could have so easily gone in the reverse; it could have morphed into a deep schism between them, but Victor, once again, met Yuuri exactly where he was.  It showed in Yuuri’s skate, and he wanted to give Victor something, something he wouldn’t be expecting, so he added the quad flip on the fly at the end.  Sure, he fluffed it and fell, but he still had the right number of rotations for it to count. 

And, Victor had also surprised Yuuri.  A wholly unexpected, public declaration, sealed with a kiss.  Yuuri’s still reeling from it; he feels buoyant, emotions raw like he might fly apart, shatter into pieces.  But it’s a good raw, a good thing, and he would not have changed it for anything.  He feels like he could conquer the world right now, that nothing could spoil this moment.

The euphoria carries him through the rest of the weekend; the flight, the trip back to _Yu-topia_.  Yuuri’s mother looks especially pleased, which he’d not been expecting, had not looked for, but it makes everything complete, more real.  Victor’s kept his distance physically, but Yuuri’s not surprised by that.  They both need time to acclimatize, to settle back down into reality, because the reality is that Yuuri needs to train, train hard, maybe harder than ever before if he wants a proper shot at the Grand Prix Final.  This was what Victor had promised him when he became his coach, and Yuuri is determined to make Victor proud.

He goes straight to bed when he gets home.  He lays in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and goes over everything once again in his head.  He reaches out, touches his lips, because part of him still can’t believe that Victor actually kissed him.  He tries to remember what it felt like, but it’s fleeting this memory, mixed up in the euphoria of a good skate, the excitement, the moment. 

He wants to kiss Victor again, this time in private so he can savour it, learn Victor’s taste, find out exactly how he kisses when they can take their time with each other.

He feels his eyes starting to close, lids heavy with the need for sleep.  _Tomorrow_ , he promises himself.  _Tomorrow, I will kiss Victor_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuuri spends the day relaxing.  He goes for a run and finds himself at Ice Castle anyway, so spends some time with Yuko-chan and Nishigori, watches the triplets skate. They truly are mini terrors on ice, a force to be reckoned with.  _It’s weird_ , he thinks _.  I don’t ever remember being this tiny, or this determined, or even this loud_.  But, he realizes, he must have been, otherwise he would have never ended up on the wonderful path he’s on, with Victor at his side. 

When he leaves, it’s growing dark.  It’s November, so the sun is setting low on the horizon by the time he makes it back home.  Victor’s absent, has been most of the day, so Yuuri thinks he’s probably holed up in his room reading or something. 

He is looking forward to dinner, however.  Today, he’s going to have homemade Katsudon; a reward for winning in the Cup of China.  He got silver and, while it’s not a technical win, which would be gold, he got a medal, so he feels it’s justified.  He’s also prepared to fight Victor over the technicalities of it just to get a bowl.  He’ll fight dirty if he has to.

In the end, he needn’t have worried.  When he makes his way to the main room, everyone is there.  They’ve made a banner and, judging by the somewhat dodgy characters, it looks like Victor might have helped out, despite his lack of Japanese.  Blushing, Yuuri sits down on the cushion next to Victor at the table.  Mari-nee is there, along with his dad, and the only person missing is his mother.  She appears, carrying a tray with two bowls of Katsudon on it and, laughing, places one in front of Yuuri, the other in front of Victor, along with a bottle of Victor’s favourite sake. 

The meal passes in a blur, faces full of laughter, humor.  Retelling of embarrassing stories about Yuuri for Victor’s benefit, while Yuuri wants to curl up in a ball and make everyone stop.  At some point, Yuuri ends up with a glass of sake and, for once, he accepts it.  Somehow, tonight, it seems like it’s okay to let go a little, to immerse himself in his family, to live now, in this moment, with the people he loves.  Tomorrow he will train, he will throw himself body and soul into attaining his goals, but for tonight… tonight is for him.

One by one the family peels away.  Toshiya-san leaves at 10.04 because, for some reason, he always goes to bed at that time.  Yuuri’s mother leaves to clean up the kitchen, and Marie-nee makes some random excuse and follows; suddenly, Yuuri finds himself very much alone with Victor.  It feels like a setup, and he feels the heat rising on his face, although it could be from the sake he’s had.

“Congratulations, Yuuri.”  Victor leans closer, until their thighs are just touching.  “I’m very proud of you.”

“Ah, thank you,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say.  He stares at the sake cup, focuses on it intently because, suddenly, he’s embarrassed, and he’s not sure why.  He hears Victor sigh, softly, and then there are fingers under his chin, gently turning his head.  He goes with the movement, letting Victor hold his attention.  They’re suddenly so close that Yuuri can almost make out the striations of color in Victor’s eyes, how they’re not so much a pure blue but flecked with different shades depending on the light.  Here, now, in the light from the lamps around the room, they’re a darker blue, intense.

Victor waits, watching Yuuri, a soft, half-smile on his lips.  He drops his hand from Yuuri’s chin, and the sudden loss of touch is almost devastating.

_Today, I will kiss Victor_ , Yuuri thinks.  He licks his lips, watching Victor’s eyes drop down to watch, flick back up to Yuuri’s eyes.

Now, _I will kiss Victor._

Slowly, hesitating, he moves forward, presses one hand to Victor’s thigh, maybe for balance, and leans in.  Victor doesn’t move, although Yuuri feels him draw in a shaking breath as their lips meet.  The kiss is delicate; it’s a question, an opportunity to retreat, and yet Victor doesn’t move, lets Yuuri press closer.  When Yuuri pulls back, Victor is flushed, he looks a little surprised, but pleased.

“Yuuri?” he asks.

Yuuri doesn’t think he can speak at this moment.  His heart is racing, beating double time with nerves and exhilaration.  His hand tightens on Victor’s thigh.  He’s about to pull away, when Victor says, “Yuuri, kiss me again.”  He pauses. “ _Please_.”

Now it’s Yuuri’s turn to draw in a soft, surprised breath, but he wastes no time doing as Victor asks.  This time Victor parts his lips; it’s an invitation, and Yuuri tilts his head, deepening the kiss.  Victor presses forward, hand sliding into Yuuri’s hair at the nape of his neck, and Yuuri finds that this is not enough, he wants more.  He licks his way into Victor’s mouth, and Victor lets out a small gasp, maybe a moan, and perhaps it’s the sake but Yuuri _likes_ that noise, and wants to hear what other sounds Victor makes when he’s lost in the moment.

He feels a hand around his waist, pulling him forward, and he goes with the flow, distracted because he’s discovered Victor tastes like sake, and Katsudon, and something else beneath that, something that’s intrinsically Victor – a heady mix of male, the crisp fresh of new ice, the wind on your skin when you fly through the air, the blur of movement, the joy of landing a jump.

Yuuri moans, finds himself in Victor’s lap, straddling his hips, but he’s well past caring.  He presses against Victor, chest to chest, wraps his arms around Victor’s neck.  Victor’s holding him as close as possible, arms around his hips, his waist, and he pulls Yuuri forward, drags him across his lap as he rolls his hips and Yuuri lets out a shuddering gasp and breaks the kiss; he can feel how much Victor wants him.  Victor places kitten-soft kisses along Yuuri’s jaw, takes his mouth in another kiss, and Yuuri’s lost to the moment again.  He could do this forever, this push and pull, give and take.  Eventually, Victor gentles the kiss, pulls back enough to stare into Yuuri’s eyes.  He leans forward, touches his forehead to Yuuri’s.  Yuuri’s breathing hard, just like Victor is.  He feels like he’s run a marathon, skated ten free programs.  He’s so wound up he aches; a sharp reminder of what Victor can do to him with just a single kiss.  He can’t even begin to imagine what sex would be like.

“It’s your day to celebrate,” Victor says.  “What do you want, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinks.  He can read between the lines, can see what Victor is asking.  He’s offering himself to Yuuri, if he wants to take it.  And oh, does Yuuri ever want to take him up on that unspoken offer, but he knows not going to, not this time.  Maybe, he thinks, even Victor realizes that, but he’s going to put his heart out there, and ask, just in case.  Yuuri feels his chest tighten, but it’s not pain, it’s happiness.  He feels complete, here with Victor, as they are.

“What do I want?” Yuuri replies.  He shifts in Victor’s lap, letting Victor know he understands, and maybe teasing just a little, because this is a heady moment, one he doesn’t want misinterpreted.  He wants Victor to know how much he _does_ want this.  “I think I want to sit here and drink sake with you into the small hours,” he says with a smile.  “I want this time with you, in private, just us.  Is that okay?”

Victor nods; his face lights up with a gentle smile.  “Of course.” 

_He understands_.  Yuuri’s relieved, but not surprised.  Victor is good at reading him, at not pushing until the time is right.  He leans in, kisses Victor, putting all of his thanks, his emotions, his _love_ , into it.

“You are going to have to get off my lap, though,” Victor adds with a laugh when Yuuri pulls away.  “You’re a very distracting package, Katsuki Yuuri, and besides, I can’t pour you more sake if my hands are full.”

“That’s no fun.”  The words have left Yuuri’s mouth before he can stop them.  “Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean – “

“I know exactly what you meant,” Victor replies, glancing at Yuuri with a knowing look.  “Now, are you going to pass the bottle over here or not?”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The time passes quickly, a flurry of activity.  Yuuri’s practicing hard, at a frenetic pace, honing the free program with Victor, building it into something that’s as close to perfect as can be.  He needs to be on top form for the Rostelecom Cup, because he’s going to have to face Yurio, and if there’s one thing he really, really hates, it’s losing. 

Consequently, he’s wound tight, tighter than a spring.  Victor’s in coach mode on the ice, pushing Yuuri harder than ever before.  Yuuri’s worked himself to the point where he simply goes home to eat and sleep; there’s no time for anything else.  He’s littered with bruises from trying to land increasingly complex jumps; Victor won’t let him add those to the program unless he can land them four out of five times in practice.  His feet are suffering; he has lace bite.  His body is hard, lean, much more than it ever was; he feels almost hollow.  He’s not sure how much more he can push himself, and yet there is Victor, always watching, always sure of how hard he _can_ push, of what Yuuri can deal with, and never any more.

Yuuri needs to let off steam; he wants to push back.  Having Victor so close, yet so unreachable at this point, is maddening.  If he’d known… he would have taken Victor up on his carefully worded offer a week or so ago.  Victor is never going to press Yuuri, only work him into a frenzy, both on and off the ice. 

_If I want Victor, I need to ask him for what I want._   It hits Yuuri one day at the end of practice, like a proverbial ton of bricks.  He stands in the change room, skates still on, towel in hand.  He swallows around a throat gone dry, imagining it.  _How does a person ask for that_ , he thinks.  _Is it that simple?_

“Yuuri?” Victor’s followed him into the change room.  “Everything okay?”

“Yes.”  Yuuri sits down, begins to unlace his skates.  He winces as the laces release, as blood rushes through his skin, making the lace bite smart.  He swears under his breath. 

And then Victor is before him, kneeling down, sliding one of his skates off carefully.  He does the same with the other, while Yuuri simply watches in surprise at the unexpected gesture.  He peels off Yuuri’s socks, runs his fingers carefully over Yuuri’s feet and looks up into Yuuri’s eyes.  “Let’s take the day off tomorrow, yes? Rest a little?”

Yuuri nods, mesmerized by Victor’s closeness.  For a moment, he almost thinks Victor is going to lean in and kiss him.  And that’s when Yuuri knows that tonight, he is going to go to Victor and ask for what he wants.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He feels better after a soak in the onsen.  Victor keeps shooting him amused glances, because Yuuri’s distracted and, apparently, that’s funny.  He’s unable to settle, even with the hot water permeating his body, making him lax, sleepy.  After the onsen, he excuses himself and goes to his room, puts his glasses to one side, slips into his sleep pants, and lies on the bed, waiting until the household settles down for the night.  Yuuri’s already half hard with anticipation, his heart beating staccato in his chest.  He’s going to do this, but part of him still doubts himself, even if he knows Victor wants him.  He’s nervous.

That doesn’t stop him from checking his phone, looking at the time.  Just after one, he rises, pushes open the door and pads down the hallway on bare feet.  He’s not sure what he’s going to do if Victor’s sleeping, but he thinks he’ll worry about that once he knows, if that’s the case.  As it is, Victor’s main light is off, but there must be a lamp on because it’s throwing a faint glow across the tatami in the hallway.  Yuuri pauses, takes a deep breath, consults himself one last time.  He wants Victor, sometimes so much it hurts, and he wants to know what it would be like to have Victor wrapped around him, skin to skin.  To have Victor inside him.

He wants to find out.

He knocks quietly at the door, pushes it open slightly.  “Victor?”

Victor’s in bed, reading by the light of the lamp.  He looks up, momentarily surprised, then his face settles into that soft smile that Yuuri has come to adore.  “Yuuri, come in.”  He puts the book to the side, beckons Yuuri in, leaning up on one elbow.  “Is everything okay?”

Yuuri nods. At this point he’s lost the ability to speak; his mouth is dry, nervousness hammering at him, but he’s set his path, and he will not waver from it.  Victor simply watches as Yuuri slides the door closed, pads across the room, and climbs onto the bed.  He crawls his way up until he’s hovering above Victor, one knee on either side of his hips.  It seems like long moments that they stare at each other, breathing syncing in time, the sound soft in the room.  Then Victor reaches up, tracing trembling fingers along Yuuri’s jaw, pulling him down into a firm kiss that’s searing in its intensity.  Every single one of Yuuri’s braincells stop functioning, and it’s all he can do to fist both hands in the sheets and just enjoy it.  He can feel himself fill and harden just from that single kiss, and he moans.  The sound is unexpected and he pulls away, a blush burning his cheeks. 

Yuuri takes a sharp intake of breath when he sees Victor.  Victor looks mussed, lips red and slick from the kiss.  His nipples are hard points against his alabaster skin, chest heaving, a dusting of color across his collarbones.  Yuuri’s never seen anything this arousing in his life, and he ducks down, unable to stop himself, licking into Victor’s mouth.  Victor opens and lets him in, moaning into the kiss.  His hands wrap around Yuuri’s waist, pulling him down onto the bedding.  His hand slides up Yuuri’s back, between his shoulder blades, and Yuuri can feel him kicking at the comforter in an effort to get it down.  He moves, enough to help out, and suddenly he’s pressed against Victor, bare chest to bare chest, sweet skin on skin.  Victor shifts against him and he can feel how aroused Victor is.  Victor rolls his hips, pressing one hand against Yuuri’s ass, grinding them together.  The friction is wonderful, nothing like what Yuuri has experienced before.  This is a world away from jerking off, and Yuuri hears someone gasp, cry out, and he realizes it’s himself.  Victor breaks the kiss, gentles his hand on Yuuri’s ass, slides it back up his spine, soothing.

“Sorry,” Victor breathes into Yuuri’s mouth.  “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri manages.  “Just… overwhelming.  But good.”

“Take it slow, then?” Victor asks with a smile, waiting for Yuuri to nod.

“Yes, take it slow.”

Victor rolls them to the side, so they are facing each other.  He brushes Yuuri’s fringe away from his eyes.  “Tell me what you want, Yuuri.  You only have to ask.”

Yuuri doesn’t think he can explain; it’s far too embarrassing.  On the other hand, he half expected this from Victor.  He shakes his head; now that his initial determination has worn off, he’s wound up tight, needs release, and now it’s worse, knowing he can affect Victor in the same way.  He reaches out slowly, traces his fingertips down Victor’s chest to his navel, back up again, taking the time to regroup.  Victor simply watches him, never takes his eyes from Yuuri’s face, content to let Yuuri explore.  His stomach tightens slightly as Yuuri’s fingers become bolder, sweeping down to the edge of his sleep pants, back up, brushing over a nipple.  That elicits a small gasp, and Yuuri watches as Victor’s eyes flutter closed briefly.  When they open, they are a deep, dark blue, intense.  Yuuri does it again, watches as Victor’s breathing changes, becoming heavier.  He can see how hard Victor is and, this time, when he lets his fingers move across Victor’s skin, he skims over the waistband of Victor’s pants, trails his fingers down his hard length.  Victor’s hips buck forward; his lips part on a shaky sigh.  _If this is what sex is,_ Yuuri thinks, _I should have done this a long time ago_.

He reverses his hand, this time presses his palm against Victor’s erection, curls his hand around it.  Victor’s watching him intently, pushing into Yuuri’s hand with steady rolls of his hips.  He watches Victor’s eyes slide shut, he licks his lips, and Yuuri can’t help it, he leans forward, takes Victor’s mouth in another kiss, feels Victor’s cock jerk against his hand, and that’s suddenly the hottest thing Yuuri’s ever encountered, the fact that a kiss can make Victor almost lose control.  Victor moans, rolls them over, until Yuuri’s under his hard body.  He pulls back, and rolls his hips again.  “Have you decided what you want?” he asks.

“Everything,” Yuuri says.  It’s the truth, he realizes.  Not just Victor’s body, he wants to know his mind, his past, his future, to test his boundaries.  “I want to know what it feels like to have you inside of me.”

Victor sucks in a surprised gasp and then he relaxes, that soft smile returning.  “Wow, that’s quite the declaration,” he says, humor coloring his voice, taking away some of the seriousness of the moment.  “We’ll go slowly, together, yes?”

And just like that, Victor meets Yuuri exactly where he is, once again.  Before Yuuri can even think over the connotations of that, Victor kisses him languidly, carefully, and then moves down his body, places kisses on his chest, his nipples, the hard, lean lines of his stomach, his navel.  Yuuri lays there, unable to process what he’s seeing; it’s easier to simply feel at this point.  Victor’s tongue swirls around his navel, pausing briefly.  Yuuri glances down, realizes Victor is waiting, wants a final go ahead.  Yuuri nods, unsure for a moment what he’s agreeing to, although he has an idea.  Victor curls his hands in the waistband of Yuuri’s pants and pulls them down, tossing them over the edge of the bed.  Yuuri doesn’t even have time to process that he’s fully naked before his erection is enclosed in the tight heat of Victor’s mouth.  He gasps, hips jerking upward, and fists his hands in the sheets, trying to ground himself.  Victor is unrelenting, or Yuuri’s simply not used to it, but in short order, Yuuri feels like he’s running a race, gasping for breaths, back arching as he clenches his teeth.  His vision is blurry; he can’t even focus enough to watch what Victor is doing.  With every movement of Victor’s mouth on his cock he can feel another layer of tight need build over the one from before, a constant, unrelenting wave of pleasure that doesn’t fade, only intensifies.  “Victor,” he gasps out. 

Victor hums, maybe in approval, maybe not, but suddenly Yuuri is coming, harder than he’s ever done before.  His body curls up until he’s half sitting, fist in Victor’s hair; can only shudder through his orgasm with eyes squeezed shut until Victor’s swallowed everything he has.  Victor pulls off slowly, tongue sweeping up the underside of Yuuri’s semi-hard cock, swirling around the tip.  Yuuri flops back, boneless, onto the bed, stunned at the intensity of his orgasm, how he can still feel it pulsing like electricity through his body.  At that moment, he is more alive than ever before.

Victor leans over him, hands on either side of Yuuri’s shoulders.  He licks the corner of his mouth, hums again in approval, and he looks like the god of sin, personified.  “ _Now_ , we’ll take it slow,” he says with a smile, eyes sparkling with amusement, and Yuuri sucks in a breath, feels his cock twitch in response despite having just come.

Victor pulls off his sleep pants, and Yuuri watches, feeling bold.  This is not like the onsen; here, he can look and he does, taking his fill of Victor’s defined body, enjoying the sight of him, clearly aroused, cock hard against his belly.  Victor lets him look, moving to slide down next to Yuuri, pulling him closer so they are spooning, bodies pressed together.   He shifts until Yuuri’s ass is pressed into his hips, and then pauses, letting Yuuri mentally adjust, giving him time to back out if he wants.  After a few moments, Victor places his hand on Yuuri’s waist, and then smooths it upward across Yuuri’s chest, brushing over his nipple.  Yuuri feels a sharp shot of desire race from his nipple down to his dick and arches, pushing back against Victor.  Victor nuzzles into his neck, placing soft kisses along the sensitive skin, down to his shoulder, back up again, all the while caressing Yuuri’s chest, his hips, down across his bruised skin and back up again, featherlight touches.  When he reaches Yuuri’s ear with his lips, he whispers, “Okay?”

Yuuri nods.  “More than okay.”  He turns, reaches up with a hand, and pulls Victor down into another exploratory kiss.  Victor tastes a little odd, considering he’s just swallowed Yuuri’s come, but it’s not unpleasant, because beneath that Yuuri can taste Victor, Victor’s desire for him.  Victor’s hand tightens on his hip and Yuuri presses back into the cradle of Victor’s.  He can feel the hot brand of Victor’s arousal against the cleft of his ass, and it sends a thrill of excitement through him, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.  _I’m going to do this_ , he thinks, _and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it_.

Victor takes his time, kissing and stroking, until Yuuri’s hard again, cock weeping precome against his belly.  It’s all he can do to lay there, to let Victor explore, and it’s clear Victor is not in a hurry and wants to indulge.  His hands are everywhere, light touches and caresses, along his side, over his chest, down past where he’s ticklish, circling his navel, avoiding the prize, until Yuuri is a hot mess, breath uneven, dick aching for further release.  “Victor,” he pleads, and his voice sounds husky, dripping with sensuality, and it’s shocking to hear that coming from his own mouth.

“Nice and slow,” Victor whispers, kissing up Yuuri’s neck.  He shifts behind Yuuri, erection sliding between Yuuri’s butt cheeks.  He moves his hips in small, slow pulses, a tease for what’s to come, and Yuuri bites his lip, surrenders to these new sensations.  He rocks slowly in time with Victor, feeling the wet slide from Victor’s cock, leaking slick pre-come.  Victor shifts, reaching for something, and when he returns, he’s got a small bottle of lube.  Yuuri sucks in a small breath, knows that this is the moment of no return.  He feels anticipation curl through his belly, heart rate increasing.  He licks his lips, waiting.  Victor pauses, and when Yuuri simply smiles at him, he leans down for another one of those unhurried kisses that threatens to break Yuuri apart.

When Victor presses against him this time, his slick cock slides smoothly between the crack of Yuuri’s ass.  He feels Victor’s fingers trail between his cheeks, over his entrance, pausing and teasing, drawing delicate circles over sensitive skin.  Yuuri’s a little shocked to find his body responding, opening to Victor’s touch, and then he’s pressing back against Victor’s fingers, chasing the pleasure.  Victor doesn’t push further, moves his hand instead, and wraps it around Yuuri’s erection, stroking slowly, down to his balls, back up again.  Yuuri spreads his legs a little, hips opening, pushes back, silently begging with his body.  Victor places a kiss on his forehead, carding his other hand through Yuuri’s hair.  Yuuri loses track of time, there’s only the roll of Victor’s hips, his touches, his kisses.  Yuuri’s falling apart, sliding into a place where there’s only feeling, need, only Victor and nothing else.  This time when he rolls his hips, he arches, feels Victor’s slick cock against his entrance.  Victor rocks his hips gently, nudging at Yuuri’s hole while he continues the never-ending, maddening touches to his erection.  Victor kisses his forehead again, and Yuuri can feel the smile on Victor’s lips.

“Victor,” he gasps.  He’s shaking, he realizes.  He’s so worked up he can’t control it, fine tremors moving through his body.  “V-victor, onegai.”  _Please_. 

And then, just like that, Victor slides inside, pausing as Yuuri lets out a shuddering breath.  It doesn’t hurt; he’s too far gone for that, but it feels strange at first.  Victor’s moved his hand to Yuuri’s hip, holding him still, letting him adjust.  He can feel the tense line of Victor’s body, he’s probably forcing himself not to move, to wait.  That makes Yuuri’s cock twitch, and he moans.  Victor slides in another inch, lets Yuuri impale himself slowly, inch by inch, onto his cock.  Yuuri’s muscles flutter, clench briefly, and that sends a surge of hard lust through his belly, down to his balls, knowing that Victor’s inside of him at last.  He arches, impales himself fully on Victor’s cock.

Victor hisses through his teeth, like he’s in pain, but he holds still, and Yuuri can feel Victor’s body trembling.  That knowledge, that Victor can be that affected, breaks Yuuri’s last shred of control, and he tightens around Victor, starting to move slowly.  Only now does Victor press forward, and Yuuri grips Victor’s hip, grounding himself.  Victor takes his time, systematically breaking down Yuuri’s barriers, his control, every thrust deep and sure, slow.  He’s keeping Yuuri expertly on edge, at his mercy, and Yuuri doesn’t care.  He wants this to last for all eternity, but he’s missing one thing.  He pauses, turns enough to see Victor properly.  “Victor… I want to see you,” Yuuri says in a rush.

Victor pulls out slowly, just enough to flip Yuuri onto his back, and then he’s pressing back inside in one smooth movement.  Yuuri arches, a surprised cry breaking from his throat because this feels so different than before.  He grips Victor’s biceps, eyes wide in surprise.  “W-what?” he gasps out.

“I think you’ll like this.” Victor grins, and rolls his hips, bottoming out before pulling back, then snapping forward.

Yuuri arches up again, head thrown back.  Now, he has Victor’s weight over him, pressing him down, and that is what he was missing, the feel of Victor around him, above him, inside him, all at once. He spreads his legs, digs his feet into the mattress, and takes everything Victor wants to give him.  Victor leans down for a kiss, swallowing the sounds Yuuri’s making with every thrust.  The kiss is sloppy, uncoordinated, but it’s perfect. This is not skating, this is not the precision of a jump, a step sequence.  This is two bodies moving as one, spiralling toward a high, unable to stop.  Yuuri can’t take a breath, he’s flying, body taut, teetering on the edge, and when Victor wraps his hand around Yuuri’s erection, Yuuri shatters.

He can feel Victor moving above him, losing the rhythm, hips stuttering, breath ragged.  Yuuri opens his eyes, can see Victor’s face; he looks incredible, it’s awe-inspiring.  Hair tangled against his forehead, eyes heavy lidded, watching Yuuri in return.  He licks his lips, lets out a moan, eyes fluttering shut for a quick moment.  Then he smiles; it’s devastating, before he arches into Yuuri, head thrown back to reveal the long line of his neck as he comes. 

At that moment, the world falls away for Yuuri: there is only Victor.  There has always _only_ ever been Victor. Yuuri’s whole life has led to this moment, he realizes, a single note in the symphony of his life, dedicated solely to this man.

This time, it’s Yuuri who reaches out, pulls Victor down, until they are tangled together, a messy, sweaty, perfect heap.  Victor rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder as their breathing returns slowly to normal.

“How was it?” Victor asks sleepily.  “Did you like it?”

“Very much.” _I love you_.

“Perfect.”  Victor nuzzles closer, breath hot on Yuuri’s over sensitized skin.  Yuuri can feel Victor’s eyelashes flutter against him.  “Maybe you can return the favour tomorrow, if you like.”

Yuuri tenses in surprise and then relaxes.  _I can do that_ , he thinks.  _I want to show Victor_ my _love, my Eros_.  He smiles, nods, knowing Victor will pick up on the movement.  He’s too exhausted to speak, body satiated, along with his soul.  And now he knows that when he wakes, Victor will be here, by his side.

And that’s enough for now. 


End file.
